I awoke the next morning with excitement. I couldn’t wait to get up and have a cup of Guatemalan coffee in Guatemala, sitting on the rooftop in Guatemala, looking at a volcano in Guatemala. Does it get any better than this? Multiple bucket list items all happening at once, and it was as great as I anticipated: watching the sunrise over the volcanoes, drinking my amazing cup of coffee.
Originally, I had thought this would be the day for a coffee farm tour. But God had other plans. That morning, my friend from work sent me a message: “Go to Hobbitenango. Don’t miss it.” I had seen photos online, whimsical houses built into the hillsides, oversized swings that launch you out over sweeping mountain views, and a place that looked like it had stepped straight out of Tolkien’s imagination. Still, I wasn’t sure how we would get there. It looked complicated and, if I’m honest, a little intimidating.
But we decided to try. After a few wrong turns (including an Uber driver dropping us at the wrong spot in Antigua), my son pulled out Google Maps, confidently navigated the maze of cobblestone streets, and got us to the shuttle stop. I had pictured a van or maybe a small bus. Instead, “the shuttle” turned out to be the back of a pickup truck, with boards nailed across for seats. If it rained, they’d throw a tarp over the top (and when it rained on the way back, they did indeed). My daughter, celebrating her birthday, laughed so hard as we bounced and bumped up the steep mountain road. It was probably unsafe and definitely illegal in the U.S., but in that moment, it was pure joy.
And the climb was worth every jolt. Hobbitenango is breathtaking. Perched high in the mountains above Antigua, it’s designed to mimic the Shire from The Lord of the Rings. The name itself is a playful mix: “Hobbit” plus “-enango,” a suffix from local Mayan place names. Built by dreamers who wanted to create a retreat where people could feel transported to another world, it has hobbit-hole houses carved into the hillsides, rustic wooden signs, and fantasy-themed details everywhere you look. But what struck me most wasn’t just the theme, it was the views. Rolling mountains draped in mist, volcanoes breaking through clouds, and green valleys stretching endlessly below. It felt like stepping out of this world into something enchanted.
We wandered, explored, and laughed together. My son took a ride on the massive rope swing, soaring over the valley below. We found what may have been the best milkshakes of our lives. We even paused to scratch the ears of the friendly stray dogs who made their home there. But the highlight, the thing that will forever be etched in my memory, was the hand.
It’s a giant sculpture of a hand jutting out over the mountainside, open and steady, as if inviting you to step into it. One by one, we climbed out onto the palm, stood still, and let the moment sink in. Behind us stretched a panorama so grand it almost felt unreal. To stand there, suspended between earth and sky, felt like standing inside a prayer.
When we came back down from the mountain, I texted a few photos to my friend. She responded instantly: “Oh! You found the Hand of God. I’m so glad you got to sit in it.” I hadn’t realized that’s what it was called until she said it. I opened my journal and flipped to the notes I had written before the trip. There it was in my own handwriting: “Do not fear, you are in God's hands."
In the Hand of God
Isaiah was one of the major prophets of the Old Testament. He lived in Jerusalem during a time of tremendous upheaval, around the 8th century B.C. The people of Judah, God’s chosen nation, had drifted far from Him. They worshiped idols, made alliances with foreign nations instead of trusting God, and lived with injustice toward the poor and vulnerable. Isaiah’s calling was not easy, he was sent to deliver both warnings of judgment and words of hope.
In the first part of his book, Isaiah speaks of God’s holiness and the coming judgment that would fall on Judah for their rebellion. He even prophesied about the Babylonian exile, when God’s people would be torn from their homeland, carried away as captives, and surrounded by a culture hostile to their faith. That looming exile was a frightening prospect: the loss of land, identity, and security.
And yet, in the middle of all these warnings, Isaiah also spoke words of breathtaking comfort. He reminded the people that even in exile, even when it felt like God was far away, He had not abandoned them. Over and over, Isaiah painted pictures of God’s strength and tenderness, urging His people not to fear.
One of the most powerful promises is found in Isaiah 41. God tells His people:
“So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10)
And a few verses later:
“For I am the Lord your God
who takes hold of your right hand
and says to you, Do not fear;
I will help you.” (Isaiah 41:13)
These two verses say so much in just a few lines. God’s speech through Isaiah isn’t harsh or distant, it’s tender, like a father stooping low to reassure His child. “Do not fear,” He says. Are you weak? “I will strengthen you.” Do you feel alone? “I will help you.” Are you stumbling, wondering if you can keep walking? “I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
Imagine hearing those words as an Israelite staring down the reality of exile. You were about to lose everything familiar, your home, your temple, your land. But Isaiah’s words reminded you that you could never lose God’s presence. Even in the darkest places, even when the ground beneath you seemed to disappear, His hand would hold you steady.
That’s why, centuries later, those promises still land with such power. They weren’t just for Judah facing Babylon. They’re for us too, when life shifts, when the future feels uncertain, when we’re standing on the edge of something new and intimidating.
And standing in the Hand of God in Guatemala, I felt that truth in a fresh way. The physical sculpture was fun and whimsical, yes, but the reminder it carried was eternal: no matter how steep the climb, no matter how shaky the footing, I am held in the righteous hand of God.
Held in His Hand
Maybe you’re climbing your own mountain right now, not in Guatemala, but in life. Maybe the road feels bumpy and uncertain, like riding in the back of a pickup truck with nothing but wooden boards to hold you up. Every twist and turn jolts you, and you wonder if you’ll make it to the top. Or maybe you’re standing in a place that feels overwhelming, looking out at the future the way I looked out from that hand on the mountainside, beautiful, yes, but also wide and unknown.
The promise of Isaiah is this: you don’t have to find the strength on your own. God doesn’t say, “Try harder. Be braver. Figure it out yourself.” Instead, He says, “I will strengthen you. I will help you. I will uphold you.” Every fear we whisper in the dark, He already answers. Every trembling step, He already steadies. He doesn’t just tell us not to be afraid; He gives us Himself as the reason we can release our fear.
That’s what I carried home from Hobbitenango that day. Yes, the laughter of my kids on a mountainside, the milkshakes, the rope swings, and the photographs in the clouds. But more than that, I carried home the reminder that God’s hand is not carved from wood or stone. It is not a tourist attraction or a fleeting experience. His hand is living, eternal, and it holds me every single day.
It holds me when I’m on a mountaintop, and it holds me when I’m trudging through a valley. It holds me when I’m laughing, when I’m grieving, when I’m unsure of what comes next. His hand doesn’t let go. And, friend, it holds you too.
After we finished taking our photos in the Hand of God, my son headed over to ride the giant rope swing. As I stood waiting for him to finish, something caught my eye. In the mud near where I was standing, a little silver glimmer shone through. I bent down to pick it up, and there in my hand was a small silver cross.
It had been raining on and off that day, and because of the weather, the crowds at Hobbitenango were thin. I couldn’t help but think: out of all the places I could have stood, why here? Out of all the things I could have seen, why this? It felt like a quiet reminder that God is always present. He never leaves us. He never forsakes us.
I tucked the cross into my pocket, not as a lucky charm, but as a marker. Just as the Israelites once set up stones of remembrance to mark where God had shown His power, I wanted this cross to be a reminder that the same God who upheld His people through Isaiah’s time, the same God who promised to strengthen and help, is the same God who was with me on a rainy mountainside in Guatemala.
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